Page 195 - DENG103_English - I

English–I

Notes “There he is,” said Herbert White, as there came a knock at the door.

The old man rose with hospitable haste, and opened it. The new arrival was a tall, burly man,
beady of eye and rubicund of visage.
“Sergeant-Major Morris,” the old man said, introducing him.

The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly
while his host got out whiskey and tumblers.
At the third glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the little family circle regarding
with eager interest this visitor from distant parts, as he squared his broad shoulders in the
chair and spoke of wild scenes and doughty deeds; of wars and plagues and strange peoples.
“Twenty-one years of it,” said Mr. White, nodding at his wife and son. “When he went away
he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. Now look at him.”

“He don’t look to have taken much harm,” said Mrs. White, politely.
“I’d like to go to India myself,” said the old man, “just to look round a bit, you know.”
“Better where you are,” said the sergeant-major, shaking his head. He put down the empty
glass, and sighing softly, shook it again.
“I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers,” said the old man. “What was
that you started telling me the other day about a monkey’s paw or something, Morris?”

“Nothing,” said the soldier, hastily. “Leastways nothing worth hearing.”
“Monkey’s paw?” said Mrs. White, curiously.
“Well, it’s just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps,” said the sergeant-major, offhandedly.
His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. The visitor absent-mindedly put his empty glass
to his lips and then set it down again. His host filled it for him.
“To look at,” said the sergeant-major, fumbling in his pocket, “it’s just an ordinary little paw,
dried to a mummy.”
He took something out of his pocket and proffered it. Mrs. White drew back with a grimace,
but her son, taking it, examined it curiously.

“And what is there special about it?” inquired Mr. White as he took it from his son, and
having examined it, placed it upon the table. “It had a spell put on it by an old fakir,” said
the sergeant-major, “a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people’s lives, and
that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three
separate men could each have three wishes from it.”
His manner was so impressive that his hearers were conscious that their light laughter jarred
somewhat. “Well, why don’t you have three, sir?” said Herbert White, cleverly.
The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous youth.
“I have,” he said, quietly, and his blotchy face whitened.

“And did you really have the three wishes granted?” asked Mrs. White.
“I did,” said the sergeant-major, and his glass tapped against his strong teeth.
“And has anybody else wished?” persisted the old lady.
“The first man had his three wishes. Yes,” was the reply; “I don’t know what the first two
were, but the third was for death. That’s how I got the paw.”
His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group.

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